Sleepless in Savannah (8 page)

He chuckled, grateful again that Maddie was safe and out of trouble. If that girl had an older brother or sister, they had their hands full.

Three hours later he lay on the sofa in Sophie's den again, counting the cracks in the ceiling in the dark, once again straining for sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he imagined Sophie in that string bikini with Rory Dalton's hand taking it off. He had already heated warm milk and tried that remedy, but he'd nearly gagged on the stuff. Then he'd tried some herbal tea he'd found in Sophie's too-orderly pantry—she really was an organizer, he realized when he'd noticed she shelved the items alphabetically—but he scalded his tongue and now it was numb.

A screeching sound erupted into the silence and he jerked up, scanning the interior. The cat? No, Jazzy was upstairs, staked out on Sophie's bed again as if to dare him to enter her private territory.

Another sound, more like something sliding across wood, echoed from outside. The rocking chair being moved on the porch? Footsteps clattered next. He tiptoed to the sitting room and noticed the window sliding up.
Shit.
Sophie had a burglar.

He glanced around for the phone and something to use for protection. The phone was in the other room, but a two-by-four lay in the corner. He grabbed it, poised to fight, when suddenly the person pitched a silver suitcase through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, the latch sprang open, the contents spilled and rolled across the hardwood. Next, a body dove headfirst through the window, a hand raked around empty air for a place to land, and the person toppled onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, squeals flying from her. One high-heeled shoe sailed through the air and barely missed his nose.

"What the hell?" He hit the light, the piece of wood at the ready, and gaped at the leggy strawberry blonde with the wild hair—it was the same strawberry blonde he'd noticed earlier at the bar causing trouble. Had she followed him here to rob him?

She saw him and screamed at the top of her lungs. Swinging her fists at his legs to take him down, she caught his ankle. He yelped, dropped the wooden beam, and collapsed onto the floor, cradling his aching shin. Good Lord, the woman had nearly broken his leg.

She was spitting and cursing and flailing her fists at him. "Help, burglar! Help!"

He winced as her claws dug into his ankle, then grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides.

"Why the hell are you screaming?
You
broke in!"

She stilled slightly and stared up at him, eyes wide with terror and temper. He loosened his grip. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I asked first."

Her lower lip quivered slightly. "I'm Sophie's sister, Lucy."

Sister? No wonder he'd thought the woman from the bar seemed familiar. They had the same dainty nose, the same fiery good looks, barring the hair color, the same great bod, but this one had a peculiar odor....

"What's that smell?"

Lucy turned up her nose. "My lucky charm—it's garlic and a few natural herbs."

She was certifiable.

"Now, mister, if you don't release me, I'm going to scream bloody murder and grab your balls and twist 'em until they fall off."

Laughter sputtered from him, but the fierce wildcat eyes told him she'd try to fulfill her threat. He braced himself for control, difficult since he was running on forty-eight hours without sleep. "My name is Lance Summers. I'm the contractor your sister hired to renovate her house."

"Oh." She relaxed slightly, her eyes skating over him, recognition dawning. "You're number two, the one who gave the dorky answers on her dating game show."

He gritted his teeth. Had everyone in the United States watched that ridiculous episode? "Yep, that's me."

"You need to work on your approach," she said, offering him a sweet smile as her gaze dropped to his hands where they still gripped her.

He released her and stood, then extended a hand. "And you need to learn to use the door."

"I forgot my key."

"You could have knocked."

"I didn't think anyone was home."

Right. He explained his reasons for sacking out on the couch while she stooped to gather her suitcase. He had assumed they were her personal things, but he suddenly realized that the suitcase had been filled with sex toys. A rubber dildo had rolled to a stop beside his feet, a fake set of plastic boobs sat with jiggling nipples jutting heavenward in the corner, and chocolate-scented underwear fringed with licorice had caught on the lamp, looking oddly out of place next to the Victorian shade.

Of course, the phone chose that time to ring. He glanced in the den, then realized it wasn't the home phone. Lucy dug around in her mammoth purse, extracted a cell phone, and flipped it open just as he spoke.

"You can't stay here," he said. "I'll take you to a hotel."

Lucy gave him an odd look, then said into the phone, "Oh, hey, Soph. I just got here." She shoved a mass of hair from her eyes. "No, you heard right. Your contractor just offered to take me to a hotel."

Chapter 5

Sophie clutched the phone in horror, reminders of her past life with Lucy-on-the-prowl floating back. Not that she blamed her little sister for attracting men—lust and Lucy were synonymous. But still, her baby sister possessed a naive innocence, and Sophie had lost boyfriends to luscious Lucy before, and Lance was... Lance.

Damn it.

She cleared her throat to find her voice. "You're going to a hotel with Lance?"

"No." Lucy's voice sounded shaky. "After all, I just met the man. In fact, he attacked me when I came in."

"Lance attacked you?"

"Yes, well, actually I sort of fell all over him, but I couldn't help myself."

Sophie gulped. Of course she couldn't. Lance was big and strong and masculine and the sexiest man she'd ever laid her eyes on. Lucy would think the same.

"I had a few drinks earlier," Lucy babbled, "and later I danced with this cute salesguy I met on the plane, but then this security guard thought I was soliciting at the club; I mean, I only gave out a few business cards—"

Typical Lucy story, ping-ponging all over the place. "Did you say soliciting?"

"Can you imagine? Then I offered to give him some freebies from my kit, and the imbecile thought I was trying to bribe him."

Oh, heavens, add bribing a cop to the charges
. "Lucy, you weren't arrested, were you?" She envisioned the headlines now:
Sophie Lane's Sister Arrested for Prostitution—Like Mother, Like Daughter.

"No, of course not. I explained that I was showing off the stuff in my new kit to this man in the booth—"

"What man in the booth?"

"The hunky Norwegian one."

"I'm not sure I want to hear any more."

"It was perfectly innocent. Besides, there weren't any 'No soliciting' signs at the club."

"What club? What kit?"

"The... club, and the kit from Sleepover, Inc., party goods."

Why would the cop think Lucy was bribing him with aromatherapy candles and lotion?

A big yawn stretched over the line; then Lucy giggled. "Don't be shy, Lance; go ahead and feel my boob if you want."

Sophie rubbed her temple where a headache pulsed. "What?"

"I told him to feel—"

"I heard that!" Sophie pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose. "But why did you tell him to feel it?"

"Because he's staring at it," Lucy said on a sigh. "He might as well touch it if he's going to gape at it."

"Lucy, are you doing drugs?"

"Of course not."

"You're drunk then."

"Maybe a little tipsy." Her voice grew hushed. "Go ahead, Lance, play with it if you want. It's really firm."

"Lucy!"

"Well, he'll never buy it if he doesn't touch it and see how perky it is."

Sophie groaned. "Put Lance on the phone."

Lucy heaved another sigh. "All right, but ten more minutes, and I would have had him."

Just what she was afraid of.

Lucy would seduce Lance, then blab all of Sophie's secrets....

* * *

Lance gripped the phone, his stomach plummeting as he realized how Lucy's one-sided comments must have sounded. He'd been too poleaxed by the sight of all this... paraphernalia to hear the first part. Lucy had explained about her toy box, hadn't she?

Did Sophie approve of her little sister carting around such outrageous stuff?

"Sophie—"

"Listen here, Lance Summers," Sophie lit into him without giving him a chance to speak, "if you lay one finger on my baby sister, I'll come back there and rip out your eyes."

He swallowed hard. One sister wanted his balls, the other his eyes. He'd be dismembered before they finished with him. "Your
baby
sister is the one throwing her boobs all over the place. You should be talking to her, not to me."

"Don't you dare put this off on her. She said you were looking at them."

He glanced at the floor where the fake boobs still lay, springy and perky and too damn real-looking for comfort. "How can I not? They're huge and... all pink...."
And those nipples look so real....

Sophie's loud hiss echoed over the line, like a rattlesnake spitting poison. "I can't believe you're so crude. I really misjudged you."

Him? What had he done wrong? He'd been trying to sleep on her lumpy, too-short couch in her stifling-hot den while she was cavorting half-naked with strangers.... "Listen, Sophie—"

"You are not taking her to a hotel room, do you understand?"

"I was simply trying to be a gentleman, considering her safety."

"Safety? The only way she'll be safe is if you leave her alone."

"I won't leave her alone here." How could he with the door missing? Any Tom, Dick, or serial killer could walk in off the streets and kill her. And what if that man from the bar had followed her? They'd practically been humping onstage.

Static cut in over the line and Lance shook the phone, annoyed. "Are there any other siblings I should worry about dropping in?"

"No." Their mother probably decided Lucy was trouble enough. "By the way, someone named Deseree called; she sounded very interested in your weekend date." Not that he was fishing for information...

"Deseree called?"

"Yes. Who is she anyway?"

"Er... she runs a charity that I donate to regularly. I'll phone her back." Her last words came out garbled; then he heard, "Remember, Lance, forget the hotel. And keep your hands off Lucy."

He glanced at Lucy, who had knelt and was carefully organizing nude playing cards, body liqueurs, and edible G-strings in her silver case as if they were gold. Keeping his hands off her would not be a problem. The girl was a walking nutcase.

But where would Sophie's hands be while he was playing guardian to her little sister? And how dare she accuse him of trying to seduce Lucy?

What kind of man did she think he was?

* * *

The next day Sophie climbed into the limo to go to the airport. Lance Summers was the most infuriating man she had ever known. He'd rattled her so, she'd even resorted to lying about her own mother.

How had she misjudged him so badly?

Maddie.

Lance was her best friend's brother, so she had listened to Maddie's unbridled descriptions of how Lance had sacrificed for her and Reid, how he'd forgone college and started his own business to pay off debts, and Sophie had thought they shared a kinship. After all, she'd practically raised her little sister, too. She'd had to be the responsible one. She'd had to take jobs she hadn't wanted to take. The soul mate she'd sensed in Lance must have been a figment of her imagination.

Sucker.

While she was on vacation, he was in her house. Planting his scent. Making friends with her cat. Touching her things.

Lusting after Lucy.

She was never going on vacation again. Even though it had been bright and sunny with crystal-clear skies, a cloud of doom had settled over her.

She'd desperately tried to reach Deseree after she'd hung up with Lance the night before. What would she do if her mother suddenly showed up on her doorstep?

How had things gone awry in such a short time? While she'd been hundreds of miles away on a beautiful island with romantic music, heavenly breezes, and a testosterone-laden man ready to sweep her under the junipers for a gritty night of lovemaking, an earthquake had cropped up at home.

Worse, she couldn't circumvent the explosion because she was having too damned much fun....

"Smile for the camera."

She resisted the urge to glare at the annoying cameraman, but Rory plastered a shit-eating grin on his face. Her smile had been frozen in place all day and felt as stiff and fragile as peanut brittle, while he'd had the time of his life, or so he kept claiming. They had snorkeled, sunbathed, Jet Skied, taken a tour of the Mayan ruins, wined and dined, and now, thank God, were on their way to the airport. For goodness' sake, she had even set her watch an hour early to avoid his last-minute attempt to frolic by the sea and get sand in all the wrong places.

She inhaled sharply to calm herself and leaned back against the plush leather seats with a diet Coke while Rory helped himself to the champagne bar. One plane ride and she would be at home, free of his smothering attention. But then she'd have to deal with Lucy's next adventure, her mother's ongoing saga of dramas, and the renovations to her house, sans Lance if she could arrange it.